Blades, Knives, Steel and Mettle
by eriesalia
Summary: Oniwaban. Juppongatana. Shinsengumi. When it comes to cleaning up messes, it takes at least one from each of the legendary groups to make sure it gets done. And through it, a girl finds her future. PostJinchuuKaden.
1. The End and the Beginning

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**Blades, Knives, Steel and Mettle   
The End and the Beginning**  
Yet another Rurouni Kenshin fanfic by eriesalia   
Continuity: post Jinchuu/Kaden

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___18th year of the Meiji, Kyoto_

__

Their feet glided over the rooftops, barely touching the tiles as they ran the width of the city. 

Swordsman pursued onmitsu – foolishly perhaps, for despite the swordman's heroic speed, this was the onmitsu's domain. The trees and walls and roofs of the Imperial City were a second home to the Oniwabanshu– as was the darkness of night that surrounded them.

Nevertheless, he pursued the ninja, knowing full well that his life depended on the outcome tonight.

A few more steps, and the onmitsu disappeared from view.

He followed a second later, landing quietly on the soft ground that lined the courtyard that had become altogether familiar to him this past year.

"You've lost," the Okashira waited, eyes glittering with some strange emotion.

He nodded. "Starting tomorrow, then—"

"Your days of wandering are over," the onmitsu laughed.

At that, he could not avoid cracking a smile of his own.

Losing this race, in this case, was not a bad thing at all.

- - - - - - - - - 

___17th year of the Meiji . Tokyo. _

"Dammit! Stupid papers!" The furious voice of one broom-headed detective resonated off the walls of the small district police office and was followed by a rather loud and resounding crash. 

Saitou Hajime's eyes flicked briefly in the direction of Cho Sawagejo and shook his head in disgust as he watched the junior office kick the pile of papers in frustration.

Cho was restless, as were many of the officers these days who were stuck sitting at their desks filling out paperwork instead of conducting investigations. New officials had decreed that the police force's efforts be more open and accountable; as a result, even the investigators were forced to file activity reports and logs every week with Tokyo Headquarters.

Saitou had managed to find ways around these decrees with his special status, but others did not.

"Is there a problem, officer?" Saitou paused by Cho's desk and watched the man shove every piece of paper together without any particular attention to the order the papers were originally in.

"Nothing that a little match can't fix," Cho muttered.

"Burning police reports is a punishable crime." His superior office smirked.

"Not if I quit and then burn the damn reports," the man slammed the papers on his table.

"True," Saitou shrugged. This wasn't the first time that the broomhead had threatened to quit. He'd get upset about something, disappear for a little while and then come back once his temper had cooled. And no one in the station would say anything about it. They'd simply hand Cho an assignment and let him continue as he wished.

Cho glared at the other man. "You don't have to fill these stupid things out, but all of us do. We're so busy filling out reports that we can't go out and do the work we're supposed to."

"Which is?"

"Cleaning up scumbags and kicking ass, for starters."

Saitou gave an amused snort at the younger man's idealized assessment of what the police actually did.

"But all we've been doing lately is a lot of digging up information on a bunch of stupid businessmen. Like I care, when we got lots of problems out there . Yakuza. Druglords. Arms dealers."

As Cho returned to glaring at his papers, Saitou took out a cigarette from his pocket and tapped it against his fingers. He hadn't had a cigarette all morning, and it now seemed like a good time for one.

As he stepped outside and under the shade of a tree that stood conveniently in front of the station, he silently agreed with Cho. While these days it appeared that the Meiji government was stable, there were a lot of elements within modern Japan that were chaotic and dangerous. Not swordsmen with delusions of returning Japan to her bloody past, but syndicates and yakuza who bullied those in the countryside and partnered with businessmen (of both foreign and native persuasion) in questionable activities.

The recent changes to the leadership and power structure of the police made it more difficult for him to pursue his code of justice openly, but there was still room to operate here and it was the reason why he and other former samurai still worked for the government.

Granted, assuming the role of Goro Fujita again was tiresome, but it was a comfortable one, in that. Wrangling the reassignment of Cho back here for 'training' also had been easy to achieve. He preferred to work alone, but in this case – Cho and others would be useful in handling other matters.

As he took another long drag on his cigarette, his keen sense of his surroundings warned him that a familiar presence approached.

He narrowed his eyes speculatively as he tried to identify it.

A swordsman, he was certain. But not Kenshin Himura.

It eluded him only for a moment. After which, he almost chuckled to himself, remarking on the man's odd sense of timing. It was a presence he hadn't felt in a long time. That of an entirely different wanderer.

"Excuse me."

Saitou looked up at the humble looking youth and then after taking a final drag on his cigarette, flicked it away.

The youth bowed politely. "I don't know if you remember me, Inspector."

"Soujiro Seta, former swordsman for Shishio Makoto -- turned wanderer."

Soujiro gave a pleased smile, one that irritatingly reminded him of Kenshin Himura. "I did not think you would remember."

Saitou hmphed. He moved back to the door and turned his head back to look at the man. "Wondered when you would finally show up."

-----

___17th year of the Meiji . Kyoto_

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"Aoshi-sama!!! Aoooooshi-sama!" A young woman moved quickly through the grounds of the hotel known as the Aoiya looking for 'Aoshi-sama,' the current proprietor of said hotel.

As she rounded the wall outside the main quarters, a man jumped up in front of her. "Misao--"

Startled, her fist instinctively came out and punched the man into the wall.

"Urgh," was the poor man's response.

Misao Makimachi, the owner of the powerful punch, screamed as she realized her mistake and began wailing apologetically. "Okina!! Okina!! I'm so sorry! "

Okina waved her hovering presence away and simply rubbed his bruised cheek. "Next time, look first to see who you're dealing with before you punch, Misao."

"I know!" She looked guiltily at the ground. "You told me that the last time."

He rubbed his other cheek where the bruise from the last time he had caught her off guard was finally beginning to disappear. "Aoshi is busy."

"Which means we won't see him until dinner or well after, right?"

"Likely not. You know what he's like."

Misao sighed. Lately, no one at the Aoiya saw much of him. He was busy running the business affairs of the Aoiya and dealing with other things that neither Okina or he would talk much about. She had her suspicions on what they often would retire privately to discuss, but the two did not see fit to tell her about their information gathering. It was as if they did not wish for her to become overly involved in the things that Oniwaban of the past had often pursued. "That's too bad—"

"Come now, Misao." Okina smiled kindly at her. "What is that you wanted him to see?"

She grinned at Okina as she took out a bundle and handed it to him. "Guess what I've managed to dig up in one of our storerooms?"

Okina furrowed his brow as he started to unwrap the bundle. His eyes widened as he looked at the weapons inside.

"They're grandfather's aren't they?" Misao leaned down to admire the thin blades. "They're so much more delicate than the kunai I use. I'm pretty sure if I practice with these that I'll be able to fight more effectively in a battle."

"Misao—" the light in OKina's eyes faded slightly. "Your grandfather might not want you to use these."

"Why?" Misao gave him a stubborn look. "Even though we haven't had a battle in a while, there isn't any harm to practicing with them."

"It can not be permitted."

Both Misao and Okina turned to look at the owner of that voice.

"Aoshi-sama!" Misao's face looked hurt and confused as she processed his words. "You too?"

Aoshi and Okina exchanged a glance and Okina handed Aoshi the bundle of knives.

Aoshi wrapped the bundle securely. "We believe that Makimachi-san would not want for his only remaining family to continue pursuing the onmitsu arts in a time where it serves no purpose."

She blinked at the stern expression of disapproval on both their faces. And then, when she realized that they were treating her still like a child, she clenched her fists to her side. "You two don't understand anything at all!"

And then she turned on her heel and walked away.

* * *

Hrm. Well, I'm assuming some of you haven't bothered trying to read all 50 something chapters of "Another Chance" to guess what this is going to be about – so all I'll say is that this will feature the characters laid out in the next three-four chapters. 

The title is a little play on words. I wanted something to encompass all the main characters of this story and all the random people who will inevitably show up later.

It takes place after the Kaden epilogue, which is set about five years after the end of the Jinchuu arc. Knowledge of AC isn't necessary, but there are some allusions to Misao, Cho, Soujiro in the beginning and (hopefully) at the very end which might be helpful. And if you look carefully over there, there is a hint at a pairing


	2. Frustration

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**Blades, Knives, Steel and Mettle**   
** Frustration**   
_Yet another Rurouni Kenshin fanfic by eriesalia _   
_Continuity: post Jinchuu/Kaden_

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The murmur of voices. Even though she did not possess as keen a sense of hearing as her revered 'Aoshi-sama,' even she knew who the voices belonged to and what they were discussing.

Misao winced as she realized that instead of losing her temper just a few minutes ago, she should have stood there and fought the two men with logic, instead of a burst of emotion.

She paused slightly, only to hear Okina apologize awkwardly. 

It was always like this. Okina serving as the mediator, as the one who tried to explain her to Aoshi-sama, and Aoshi-sama back to her. "She's young. She doesn't quite know how to express herself."

"Even so, those are deadly items. Even I recall what Makimachi-okashira had stated back then. These kunai have a bad habit of arcing back slightly. She could hurt herself—" 

"I don't think she meant to use them— just for practice she said--"

Misao did not hear the rest of Okina's sentence. Her mind was struggling with the realization that Aoshi had not disagreed with Okina. To Okina she would always be young… but to her beloved Aoshi-sama… 

_You're just a child._

Aoshi's voice filtered in again, this time his voice held a cold firmness which she knew signified his displeasure. "She has been practicing near the temples. Not with just kunai, but with a multitude of weapons. "

"The others would not dare teach her behind our back."

Misao's eyes widened in concern, wondering if she should go back and correct whatever misperceptions the two held. Never mind that it would be acknowledging that she had indeed been practicing on her own – but she did not wish for any of them to bear Aoshi's wrath.

"They did not." Aoshi answered momentarily. "They do not dare defy our wishes or their own. But those techniques she learned – all were acquired from simply watching the others in battle or in their own practices. And she has mastered them."

Misao felt a stab of pride at his assessment, however given. To master so many techniques was something only the most advanced of onmitsu would do. Particularly one ready to ascend officially to adulthood. According to the stories she had heard from Kuro, had she been a boy, she would have taken her rites of initiation and battled each of the masters of their disciplines, after which she would have officially been declared a clansperson in full battle standing.  
  
And then she could be taken seriously in her request for those kunai – to claim the things that had been kept securely in hiding for her – to use and not simply stare at fondly. 

She frowned for a moment though considering the matter. Even if she hadn't battled each and every one of her remaining clansmen – hadn't she earned the right to choose as she wished in her path in life? She had done what was wanted from her. She had gritted her teeth and trained in the things Okina had so fervently hoped she would undertake – the feminine arts -- the pouring of tea, the writing of calligraphy, the proper wearing of a kimono, and even ikebana which she found enormously irritating. She was adequate in these areas, and also knowledgeable enough to know this wasn't simply the life she wanted.

Particularly since she had, more discreetly, been also continuing in her own training – watching her other clanswomen and clansmen covertly in their own practices. She could only watch, since none would or wished to teach Misao anything else which they felt wholly unnecessary in this new era.

She had to rely on the inborn skill in her as an onmitsu to pick up techniques without formal tutelage. 

Even so, Okina _knew_ she was capable of using those kunai she had found. 

As did Aoshi-sama.

Although he was usually not one to speak so much – this particular topic seemed to draw him out. "Practicing is the same as intending to use them. You and I both know that. You may have trained her and guided her for many years, but remember that I trained her as well. She was raised first as the true successor to the Oniwabanshu. She does not simply 'practice.'"

"Then , I agree. I'll keep these a little longer." Okina was apologizing now. "For a little while longer. And I'll explain it to her—I'll soothe things over." 

"Ah," came the usual monotonic reply. "You have my thanks."

The two men started to move away, their voices growing dimmer as they disappeared elsewhere in the compound. 

"You were coming to discuss something else?" Okina changed the subject so quickly, as if this discussion were not unusual in itself. As if they talked about her all the time, Misao realized.

"There is the matter of the Americans to discuss—" 

"The Americans—" Okina laughed. "Ah yes, the tourists—"

Their voices gone, Misao let out a breath and continued up the steps that led up to her quarters. She blinked back angry tears at the casual manner in which the two men talked above her and about her. She blinked them back because she did not want anyone to see her and think that she was crying over kunai. Even though she had seen their value and their worth – both as weapons but also as ties to the past she did not really truly recall, it wasn't about those blades at all.

True -- she had wanted their vote of confidence, their trust in her to make her own choices. But she knew her own skills well enough to know she could handle those knives, tricky or not. That they were in doubt about that did not explain the tears that she refused to shed. The two men who had both raised her could not be faulted for wanting to continue to protect her. 

  
It went far deeper than that; it wasn't Okina's expressed view on her that hurt her the most. Rather it was the words of the other -- the man who she had idolized; the man who she had openly and childishly declared her love for all these years. 

The tone of his voice – even though somewhat neutral – revealed so much about its speaker. And her heart was troubled by the realization that had come to mind --   
that even now, at the age of twenty-one, to her beloved Aoshi-sama she was still a child.

She opened the door to her room and closed it quietly behind her.

Once inside, she let her eyes close wearily and she tried to quench the fear welling up inside her – the fear that feelings would never change.

Not now at the age of twenty-one.

Not ever.

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Dammit. This isn't supposed to be updated until July. JULY!!! AFTER QUALS!!! And it's not supposed to be angsty. But IT IS! ARGH! *author tears hair out* 

  
Because Cho wouldn't promise to be nice, I stopped here. Stupid broomhead. 


	3. The Wolf

**Blades, Knives, Steel and Mettle** L **The Wolf  
**

_17th year of the Meiji . Tokyo._

Later, during dinner, he would not tell his wife about the way his junior officer's eyes bulged out when Seta Soujiro followed him inside the station.

It wasn't that he was trying to hide that fact, rather that it was simply the way things had always been. Saitou never told her any of the details of any of the things that he did as Fujita Goro. Nor did she ever ask for them in any of the ten years they had been married.

Tokio was, after all, an official's daughter and had been trained well. It was enough for her to know that he served always some higher person or purpose – and would only tell her as much as she needed to know. She supported him – and for that, he was (as he had stated many a time to other people) a fortunate man.

The children wriggled in their seats impatiently as they waited for him to sip his after-dinner tea. He raised his eyebrow at his eldest son, Tsutsomu – now a child of eight – who immediately responded to the silent glance by sitting still. As for the other two, Saitou sighed – they were too young to be expected to do more.

He put down his cup of tea as he addressed the young man who he and his wife had taken in after his brother was killed by one of Shishio's goons. He had been a young boy then, but now would inevitably wander off and leave this place. But for now, he was simply a godsend to Tokio. "Eiji --please take the boys outside."

As the boys cheerfully opened the door and ran into the courtyard, he took out a cigarette and lit it with one of his always precious matches. She smiled at him then – his reward for patiently waiting until the children were gone to indulge his little addiction. It was the same smile that had likely charmed the daimyo in Aizu so very long ago into making the match between samurai and loyal retainer. It was a smile that soothed him – and had secretly made it easier for him to settle down after a lifetime of hell. She eased the loneliness he felt as one of the last of the wolves of Mibu.

"My husband is in a good mood today."

"Not exactly," he took a drag on his cigarette, savoring its flavor before slowly exhaling the smoke. "I'll be leaving tonight."

Her eyes fluttered closed not once, but twice – the only sign that the news was unwelcome. Not even with a half-second she had slipped back into her gentle Buddha-like wise and calmly poured more tea. "How long will you be gone?"

"A few days. "

A few days, and a few days more, and perhaps more after that. That is how it always was.

And she sipped her tea, her face serene and impossibly strong in its silence. Uncertainty was nothing new to Tokio, although the past few years it had been relatively quiet—until rumors started surfacing.

To Hokkaido, to Aizu, to other places he had no particular fondness for – to those places that belonged to Saitou Hajime, Fujita Goro was called again by rumors. Rumors of war and rumors of ghosts – all which turned out to be simply that.

Rumors.

But they were rumors designed with him in mind, and for what reasons, he hadn't known. Instead, for months he was away from Tokyo and Tokio, on a fruitless quest for dead men. And when he returned, the government was waiting.

And so Tokio's bright eyes burned into his conscience as he took his leave later that evening. He had broken an unspoken promise by returning to the things which he had thought left behind.

Her face quiet and voice uncomplaining, it was only her eyes that spoke of her unhappiness as later that night, he slipped back into the night and into the darkness.

--

So the task of conducting surveillance at Yokohama fell to Cho. Or rather, Cho and foundling Soujiro.

Normally, any sort of assigned work irked Cho. Even if it was one ordered by that wolf-man, which in most cases meant it was semi-interesting – Cho was , by his own admittance, just not the spying type and like his 'boss,' did not give a rat's ass when it came to the Meiji government.

But this was one little job that just couldn't be left alone… not when it was Soujiro who himself brought the piece of news that Saitou had thought worth following up on.

And of course Cho, ever so dying of curiosity of what dragged Soujiro into Tokyo, couldn't just not tag along.

He sighed. He was just too easy going.

As for Seta Soujiro, what had changed? Outside, there was the same almost childish face, but the years of wandering had altered him as well. The unflappable broomhead did not know how to explain it except that where there had once been a constant and unwavering smile, there would sometimes be an occasional flicker of some strange emotion across the younger man's face and lapses in attention as they took that afternoon train down to the port city.

"Where have you been," was the question that Cho wanted to most ask, but he already knew Soujiro would simply just smile and cheerfully tell him something along the lines of "Here and there and everywhere." And he would be right. Seta was ragged, and as disreputable looking as that rurouni redhead, who had wandered for ten years to get that way.

And a few hours on the train would barely be enough to cover five years of tales and stories, he knew. So instead he waited until the annoying attendant left them in their box, and grinned, focusing on the task at hand. "What trouble you think is festering in Yokohama, kid? Foreign folks are everywhere there, and they're bound to bring trouble just by their presence. Tokyo may be modernizing, but Yokohama is where the true action is. People come in and out of there all the time—trading, and all that sort of stuff."

"Or to look for certain connections—" Soujiro turned his gaze away from the window of the moving train towards the other man. "Or people."

"So you looking for connections?"

"Maybe," Soujiro gave him a rather blank grin. "But I don't have a sword anymore, so can't get very far."

"Just take one of mine," Sawagejo grinned back as he thought about the swords he carried. "I promise to give you a good one."

"I don't think these sorts of folks would talk to me even then," Soujiro beamed, not even showing any resentment at that reality.

Cho snorted. Even if the kid had and was changing, he still had that same face. "Damn fools. People in this era grow more stupid by the year. So I'm to help you."

"Fujita-san thought you'd be useful for something like that."

Chou puffed up a bit. "Well, you know, he and I have a real good understanding of one another these days. I mean since he came back, I figured might as well do the same. If a ex-Shinsengumi can suck it up, so can a former Juppongatana—"

"We're going to try to hire ourselves out to get information—pretend to be just a bunch of average goons. Saitou-san said you'd be perfect for that role--"

"Perfect!" Immediately, any small semblance of affection or respect Chou had for the wolf dissipated into a stream of very unusual curses that would make any real man proud.

* * *

Notes: Well, I lost my notes. Yes, this was going to be a side story explaining/developing other side characters who had cameos in Another Chance as well as another look at the 'mass conspiracy' Saitou had been playing with (in which the mysteries of that other story were only a smaller piece). And so intending to find those notes, I left this story on the side while I pursued other non-fanfic things. So the first part dealing with Tokio and Saitou was written shortly after that last installment like last year? Cho and Seta's fun in Yokohama, however was the part I am trying to recollect. Back to the drawing board and rereading the other fic and then back to the other fics, which I intend to update. . 

As for the years and dates, the only important thing here is that this takes place after Kaden, and the manga framework of history and characters is what this 'continuation' is loosely based on.


End file.
